


Freckles and the Loras Incumbant

by anomalousity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousity/pseuds/anomalousity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is just trying to finish his book when he's interrupted. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freckles and the Loras Incumbant

That damned moron is staring at him again.

Castiel takes a long sip from his coffee cup, glaring over the rim at the freckled football player who can’t seem to keep his eyes to himself. It’s the third time this week the guy has walked into Naomi’s, and for the third time this week, he’s accompanied by his entourage of sweaty, equally dumb football players.

He sighs, shrugging out of his coat and opting to ignore his audience, like he has every other day this week. Instead he focuses on his worn copy of ‘A Song of Fire and Ice’, finding solace in the fantastical world of dragons and kingdom rivalries. And Daenerys isn’t so bad either.

Of course, jock boy chooses that exact moment to start talking to Castiel.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to go for Game of Thrones,” he mutters, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone. Castiel almost wants to look up; he knows the guy is attractive, but he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement.

Instead, he answers without barring a glance from his book. “I didn’t think you’d be the type capable of reading,” he bites back, reaching for his coffee. “If you’d excuse me, I’d really like to get back to not talking to you.”

Castiel doesn’t wait for an answer as he reaches into his bag, digging out his clunky headphones and sticking them on his head. He offers the guy a glance, however, and if he wasn’t so adamant about refusing to show weakness, he’d probably ogle his dumb freckled face.

Whatever, he can ignore him out of spite.

* * *

* * *

He didn’t expect Freckles to return the day after, this time without his entourage.

Castiel peers up from his book, now almost half finished, and scrutinizes the man. He still doesn’t even know the guy’s name, which he supposes he should considering being a football player is about the equivalent of garnering celebrity status at this damn school. Stupid society.

A flash of green eyes and a crooked smile tell him he’s been caught.

“Shit,” Castiel hisses, his eyes darting back to the text, lines about Cersei’s tyranny blending together on the page as his ears perk up to the sound of approaching footsteps. He almost wants to punch himself, the way he tenses up at the familiarity of the guy’s paces, of his stride.

Of his fucking voice.

“Hey there, Loras,” the guy says, parking himself beside Castiel on the small couch.

His nose scrunches at the inclination. “Really? You’d peg me for a Tyrell?” He always thought himself more of a Targaryen man, despite the negative connotations associated with the name. “And here I thought you knew me.”

The guy laughs before reaching for Castiel’s massive cup of coffee, pulling it to his lips and taking a long sip before setting it back down. Bastard. “I don’t, but I only need to look at you once to know you’d like a Baratheon.”

“And, what, are you saying you’re a Baratheon?”

“I’m saying Renly’s my favorite. At least, his motives are my favorite.” Castiel finally glances up at the guy at that, curiosity spiking in his gut. He receives raised brows in response. “What?”

“Renly’s stupidity cost him his life.” Not that Castiel doesn’t like Renly or Loras; he just finds them to be incredibly stupid and self-sacrificing when it comes to each other. “Now Daenerys, there’s a character I like.”

The guy’s eyes go wide, his lips quirking in a small grin before widening into a smirk. “I’m Dean, by the way.” He bumps his knee against Castiel’s, grinning as he reaches down for his coffee again.

“Castiel,” he replies, batting away his hand. Dean fixates him with a puzzled expression before bursting into raucous laughter. Castiel just sits, completely befuddled by the enigma of what he thought was an idiotic athlete turned fantasy literature enthusiast turned smiling four-year-old. “What? What is it?”

Dean swipes his fingers over his eyes before calming. “Dude, can I call you Cas or something?” He lunges for the coffee again, this time avoiding Castiel’s hands as he takes a long drudge. “Maybe you  _are_ more Targaryen than I thought.”

His smile is wide but at least it’s genuine.

“Whatever,” Castiel mutters, trying and failing to turn his attention back to the book. Dean still hasn’t moved, despite Castiel’s implied dismissal. Nonetheless, he finds himself reassured by the warm length of his body pressed alongside Dean’s; takes comfort in it.

Of course, eventually Castiel runs out of time and he has to run off to classes, but he does offer Dean a small nod and a wave before departing the café.

* * *

* * *

The next time he sees Dean, it’s not at the coffee shop.

Rather, it’s at a little outfit on the skirts of campus, a small concert thrown by good friends. Castiel rests at the edge of the floor, watching as Jo thrashes at her guitar and yells into the microphone like she was born to do it. It’s only until she begins one of the slower numbers that he realizes he’s not alone in his lonely corner.

“She’s somethin’ else,” Dean muses beside him, shucking his arm over Castiel’s shoulders.

Castiel hums in reply, not making any move to retract from Dean’s embrace. Jo’s voice carries throughout the room, soft words streaming between packed bodies as Ash taps on the snare every so often.

“I’ve never really understood the fascination with thrasher music, but I really like Jo’s voice.” Castiel glances up to Dean, searching out his face in the dim light. “She’s quite talented.”

Dean nods, his fingers tapping against Castiel’s shoulder in time to the beat. His lips open as though he’s about to say something, but after a moment they close again. Castiel almost asks what he was going to say but thinks better of it, instead opting to watch the small group on the stage.

It’s not perfect, but he’s never really had anyone to stand with during the slow songs.

* * *

* * *

Castiel’s in the middle of a sculpture when Dean barges into the art room, his face flushed scarlet and a  _very_  happy Jo trailing behind him.

“Dean?” Castiel asks, tilting his head towards his visitors as he attempts to get the gooey mess of clay off his hands. “Jo? What are you two doing here?”

Jo just snorts in response, and Dean’s flush grows brighter. “Why don’t you ask mooneyes over here?” She nudges Dean’s ribs, laughing when he shoots her what could have been a bone withering glare had it not been so tinged with embarrassed blush.

Castiel briefly notes that he’d like to see that flush on Dean more often… and wow why the hell is he even thinking about that?

He shakes his head before pushing from his chair and shutting off the wheel, making quick work of dumping the washier pieces into the excess bucket before walking to his friends. Dean looks like he’s about to flee with each of Castiel’s approaching steps, his green eyes haywire as they survey the room and land on Jo’s face, almost pleading in their desperation.

Okay, maybe something is up.

“Dean, is there something you want to tell me?” Castiel twists his fingers within each other, peering up at Dean from heavy lashes as he awaits his answer. He’s almost to counting the freckles streaked across Dean’s nose before he even gets a noise in response.

“I, uh,” Dean stutters, his eyes flitting to Castiel’s, around the room, and back again. “Er… Jo?”

Castiel follows his glance, eyeing Jo with curiosity because he couldn’t  _possibly_ be more confused as to what is even happening. She groans before saying anything, and when she does it’s with a snarky roll of her eyes.

“I’m not going to tell him, Winchester, so if you want to tell him, you better do it yourself.” And with that, and a sly wink cast in Castiel’s direction, she takes her leave. Castiel shifts his gaze back to Dean, trying to keep any traces of sarcasm or wit from his face as he appraises the attractive man.

“What do you want to tell me?” he reiterates, letting one of his hands settle onto Dean’s forearm. When Dean jumps at the contact, he pulls away, but with Dean’s fingers catch around his wrist, he stays still. “Dean?”

“Cas, I-” Dean begins, his voice strained and gruff. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

Castiel nods, prompting him to continue.

Dean swallows, his eyes fluttering shut before opening to Castiel’s face. “So… you know how I said you were like Loras or whatever?” Castiel nods when he realizes Dean’s waiting for answer. “And how I said Renly’s my favorite?”

Again, Castiel nods, not quite getting it. When Dean notices, he sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“I just… You’re- Fuck, Cas, I’m trying to ask if you’ll be the Loras to my Renly.” Dean’s blush flares up again, his eyes hidden by his hand as he growls his words. Castiel almost doesn’t believe them at first, thinks their some figment of his imagination before a smile blooms over his lips completely of its own volition.

“Dean, that has got to be the dorkiest way anyone’s ever asked me out.” A bubble of laughter escapes his lips and after a moment, he lets his hands trail to Dean’s, prying his fingers from his eyes as he grins up at his friend.

He receives a smirk in reply.  _There’s_ the Dean he knows. “But it was damn charming, huh.” His green eyes are squinting under the girth of his grin.

Castiel nods, hesitantly letting his hands drop to Dean’s hips. “It was damn charming,” he echoes, arching up onto his toes. “And you know what?” He breathes his question against Dean’s lips, just barely teetering on that edge into a completely new dimension.

“Hmm?”

“I think I might be starting to like Renly,” he murmurs, just before crashing their lips together in a teeth clattering, just this side of painful kiss. Dean’s hands come to rest on his lower back, his fingers massaging little circles into the flesh.

When they break apart, both are breathless, but Dean’s eyes are wide with smile, and fuck if Castiel’s aren’t either. He cautiously brings a hand to rest on Dean’s cheek, grinning at the smudge of clay left behind on his stubble before letting a small grin cross his lips.

“I’d love to be your Loras, Dean.”

 


End file.
